Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  “We’ve been surveilling Bard and the KXDs for several months. It’s time we change the play. You need to earn their trust in order to infiltrate their ranks,” Cooper concluded. “We’ve discussed the possibility of making a small buy to start the ball rolling. Authorization has come through, and that’s the first step toward reaching our much larger goal.”

  I spread the photos out. “So which one of these bad boys am I approaching?”

  “One of the nameless low-level dealers,” Mark replied. “Start small and slow. These pushers are a dime a dozen. Turnover in the KXDs happens quickly, so it doesn’t matter who. It’s just a start. Eventually, you’ll work your way up to one of Bard’s lieutenants, but we can’t rush this, no matter how badly you want to get away from the cockroaches.”

  “But since I’m new in that neighborhood, how do I know who to approach or what to buy?”

  “We have a general idea where you can look since they frequent the same locations.” Cooper pointed to the photos of the alleys and dumpsters. “So use your best judgment. Whoever you think is a safe bet. But since you’re new, they might expect you to use in front of them if they don’t believe your planted background.”

  “So don’t ask for anything that I can’t fake,” I surmised.

  “And don’t do it tonight,” Mark warned. “Study the photos, see who you spot from your apartment, and determine the least dangerous person and position for your approach. The surveillance team won’t be circling anymore, but we’ll have agents on standby in case something goes sideways. Just keep in mind, they’ll be at least ten minutes out since we can’t risk tipping the KXDs off that you’re a federal agent, so it’s all on you.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t blow this.” I smirked. “Well, I might buy some blow. We’ll see how the mood strikes me.”

  “We’ll finish reviewing the old information and work on the intelligence angles,” Cooper assured, getting up from the table. Since this had originally been his operation, he was coordinating the data collection and analysis. “She’s all yours, Jablonsky.”

  “What else is new?” Mark replied, studying me for a moment before diverting his attention to one of the untouched sandwiches. “So what are you planning to do this evening, Parker?”

  “Show up at the apartment, get a more thorough lay of the land, keep my eyes peeled for danger, and wait for morning.”

  “Where are your credentials?”

  “What?”

  “Just in case something goes south, you need them close by, but keeping them on your person in the event you’re searched isn’t a great idea either.”

  “You do realize this isn’t my first undercover assignment, right? Pretty far from it, actually.”

  “Okay. I just want to make sure you’re being careful. Boredom leads to complacency, even in the best agents, and without back-up on-site, I need to know you’re taking every precaution imaginable.”

  “Stop worrying so much. I’m a paranoid lunatic. I even think the doc wrote that on my latest psych eval.” I collected the photos and the condensed file Cooper left on the table. “What time should Alexia make her appearance tonight?”

  “Shoot for ten. Leave after noon tomorrow, got it?”

  “Great that gives me another four hours to read the funny pages.” I held up the files. “It’s only been a week, but I get the feeling we’ll be having another conversation just like this one six months from now.”

  “You knew it was long-term when you agreed to come back. Should I remind you of The Tortoise and the Hare?”

  “Slow and steady. Aye, aye, sir.” I took a deep breath and went to the door.

  “And, Parker, no more poker nights.”

  Grumbling a response too low for Mark to hear, I let myself out of the building. Always vigilant for signs of trouble, I took a bus to a much more pleasant neighborhood and then grabbed a cab to my apartment. That left just enough time to review the materials from my briefing, eat dinner, and alter my look to ghetto junkie. Why did I love this job so much? At times like this, I couldn’t quite remember, or maybe that was from too many hits to the head.

  Arriving a few minutes to ten, the cold winter air held the promise of an impending snowstorm. With any luck, the heat in the crappy apartment wouldn’t give out. Trudging up the steps in an opened parka that revealed a pair of short shorts, ripped fishnets, and thigh-high boots, I wasn’t sure if my attire screamed stripper or hooker. Then again, there wasn’t always a differentiation between the two. As long as it yelled desperate in big bold letters, I was off to a good start.

  “Yo, Ms. Nicholson,” a woman around my age called when I made it to the fourth floor, “a man was looking for you the other morning. You in trouble or something?”

  “Nah,” I replied, watching her push a young boy back inside her apartment. She was smart enough to leave the security chain on, and optimistically, I figured maybe her watchful attitude was to keep the riffraff away from her family. “Just got some times and dates confused. No biggie. You have yourself a good night.” I grinned. “I know I will.” I lifted up the brown paper sack I was carrying. It looked like it could have come from a liquor store, but all it held was my rolled up crossword and word search puzzles. Wow, I was lame, even in this neighborhood.

  She narrowed her eyes and slammed the door, muttering something derogatory about hos. At least my cover was shaping up nicely. Too bad I might freeze my ass off. Making a note to reconsider the slutty outfits or invest in a long, down coat, I closed myself into the disgusting apartment, locked the door, flipped on the lights, and checked every inch for signs of a disturbance or an infestation. No reason not to be thorough since I was checking anyway. After concluding that the apartment was tamper free, I slipped into something more practical, checked the windows for outside activity, and set up the surveillance equipment to begin monitoring the area for the evening.

  Five

  I rubbed my eyes and got up from my perch at the window. The long hours of monitoring the surrounding area for activity was beyond boring. It was a snooze fest, and despite the fact that I needed to be alert and vigilant, it wasn’t humanly possible to do absolutely nothing but stare out the window all night. Knowing my own limitations, I made sure the feed was recording and rinsed out a cup before filling it with bottled water and microwaving it. Adding a packet of instant coffee, I stirred the contents, checked the other three windows for signs of life, and slumped onto the air mattress in the corner.

  Furniture wasn’t exactly a priority for the federal government or crack whores, so aside from a kitchen table and chairs, a few TV trays, and an air mattress, the place was barren. The camera equipment was set up on each tray, and signs of drug abuse littered the floor. I glanced at the tips of my fingers, reminding myself to cover them in soot since the burnt foil always left residue on a heroin user’s fingertips.

  After a fifteen minute break that consisted of staring at the ceiling and working on a word find, I repeated the process of checking each camera location and dragged a chair to a different window to continue surveillance. A partner did come with some benefits, like conversation and the ability to get takeout, and briefly, my mind wandered to my late partner, Agent Michael Carver, and soggy pizza. Nope. It wasn’t worth it. I didn’t need to be entertained every minute of the day. Taking a final sip of coffee, I paced back and forth, keeping my eyes trained on the ground below.

  The snow started around one a.m., and by now, everything was covered in a light layer of white. It was bitterly cold, and the weather was acting as a decent deterrent to keep crime down. Admittedly, this was a good thing, but of course, it didn’t make my job any easier or my night any less tedious.

  Around six a.m., the sounds of the city waking up began. Stretching from the position I’d been sitting in for the last two hours, I picked up a slightly used trash bag that contained nothing more than some crumpled paper towels and went to the dumpster. It was one of the locations that Cooper had pointed out, and I wondered if I’d find som
e sign of a dead drop or if this was one of the normal spots the KXDs used to hock their illegal wares. And since no one was around at the moment, it was the perfect time to snoop. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself as useful knowledge or evidence.

  Just as I tossed the bag into the dumpster, I heard someone shuffling down the sidewalk, out of view. I palmed the taser in my coat pocket and emerged onto the street, keeping my face turned away from the falling snow. In the brightening sky, the accumulated snowfall reflected the light, illuminating the area more than normal for this early hour.

  A man I recognized from the photographs as Francisco Steele, Bard’s top lieutenant, was leaning against the building, hunched over as he lit a cigarette. I walked right by him, knowing it would be stupid to make an approach this early in the game.

  “Just getting in? Or are you going out, chica?” he asked. “It’s a strange time to be outside, isn’t it?”

  Great, he was already suspicious. I continued walking, ignoring him and going up the steps to the front door of the apartment building. Saying nothing would probably be more effective than saying something.

  “What’s a matter, pretty lady? Cat got your tongue?”

  “The cat’s got something,” I replied. As I went up the steps, I listened for footfalls behind me, but he didn’t follow. That encounter didn’t amount to much of anything, except an elaborate explanation on the paperwork I had to file.

  Back inside the apartment, I gave the place another once over for signs of any unwelcome guests, smashed a spider that was hiding in the bathroom, and returned to the window. Below, Steele found someone else to talk to. I used the camera to zoom in, but I didn’t recognize the other man. Taking a few snapshots and making a note to run him through facial recognition, I contemplated how some worthless stripper junkie, a.k.a. me, was supposed to get into DeAngelo Bard’s good graces. One step at a time, and first, we had to work on orchestrating a buy.

  The men outside continued their conversation for the next twenty minutes, but neither of them had any visible contraband. Working the kink out of my neck, I checked the other vantage points, but nothing exciting was happening. A few minutes after I resumed watching the exchange below, the unidentified man walked away, and Steele came inside the apartment building. Did he live here? I went to my front door and pressed my eye against the peephole, but if he resided in this building, it definitely wasn’t on this floor.

  With nothing else to do, I wrote my report, a thorough description of the men I noticed and encountered, a preliminary summation of the dumpster which proved worthless, and checked outside again. By now, it was after eight. The kids were off to school, the hardworking adults who had fallen on hard times were off to work or employment agencies, and everything quieted.

  For the next four hours, I fought to keep my eyes open. The building and surrounding areas were lifeless with the only exceptions being traffic and the occasional siren or blaring car horn. Shaking off the boredom and fatigue, I worked my way through a few dozen Sudoku puzzles, stowed the surveillance equipment in the false back behind the locked closet, and made sure the place still looked like it belonged to an addict who had no intention of recovering. Alexia Nicholson might have heroin and cocaine on her rap sheet, but that didn’t mean she didn’t dabble in pills, alcohol, and whatever else she could get her hands on. Hopefully, the KXDs would find that believable.

  Stuffing my handwritten report, surveillance notes, and the memory cards from the cameras into an envelope, I sealed the flap and stuck it inside the inner lining of my coat. As another precaution, I had hollowed out a place inside the lining to transport materials. This way, in case I was ever stopped or searched, my actual identity wouldn’t be as easily discovered.

  Locking my cover’s apartment, I went down the steps and out the front door. Half a block away, the voice from earlier sounded again. “Now where you headed?”

  “Fuck off, creep,” I snapped. “I have a killer hangover and a million things to do. Go harass someone else.”

  Francisco didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed. I continued down the street, barely hearing the amused snort that rang out a full minute later. At least he wasn’t pissed. He was entertained. That could make things interesting in the future. Maybe I found a way in. Too bad it wasn’t with some nobody dealer. Jablonsky would be agitated by this new turn of events, but it could speed up the process and get this op on a more manageable timetable.

  After leaving last night’s intel at the dead drop, I considered my options. It would have been nice to go to the federal building or the precinct and dig up Francisco Steele’s background and look through the mug book for his known associates, but that wasn’t an option. Instead, I took the crosstown bus to one of the larger terminals, got out, and stopped at the closest diner. Once lunch was ordered, I glanced around and pulled out my burner phone, dialing Mark.

  “I want to go back,” I said.

  “When?”

  “In an hour or two, depending on how long it takes to eat lunch and catch a bus to the neighborhood.”

  “Jesus,” Mark exhaled, irritated, “we just picked up the intel twenty minutes ago. We haven’t had time to analyze it yet, and you already want to go back. What happened?”

  “One of the strays spotted me. He might be hanging around the rest of the day. Maybe it’s time for an introduction.”

  “Don’t push for a buy.” He sounded exasperated. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “We’re establishing a rapport. It can’t hurt. Worst case, maybe he found a place to get out of the cold, and I’ll end up heading out a couple of hours later than planned.” The cryptic nature of my speech was starting to get annoying.

  “If this is happening, we’ll have to get the rest of your cover established sooner, just in case someone checks up on you. So unless you hear otherwise, don’t give any hard details.”

  “I never do.”

  “Yeah. We’re gonna talk about that in the future.” He hesitated, and I thought he might hang up. “Parker, be careful. And give me a call once you’re alone inside the apartment.”

  “I will.”

  Disconnecting, I worked my way through lunch as my mind wrapped around the feasible options. My support team wouldn’t be particularly happy about the change in play. They liked to have extra time to prepare, and if Steele was still outside, then we’d be going from zero to sixty. Then again, it was possible he went home or to work, assuming he had some type of legitimate job, which I doubted. Closing my eyes, I knew I read through his profile, but no address was listed. Was he one of my neighbors? Maybe his attempt at a conversation this morning was the KXDs’ version of the welcome wagon, and the gift basket would be a nice arrangement of uppers and downers since they didn’t strike me as the Jell-o mold types.

  I took the bus to the closest stop and trudged through the snow to the drafty apartment building. The frigid air and my lack of sleep only aided in solidifying my cover, causing my skin to appear paler than normal on account of the dark circles and windburns. Rounding the corner, Steele was sitting on the freshly shoveled stoop, rubbing his hands together and waiting for something.

  “God, the last thing I need is a stalker,” I growled, carefully maneuvering around a patch of ice to get to the front steps. Although I was speaking aloud to myself, it had the desired effect of causing him to strike up a conversation.

  “Finished with your errands?” His tone matched the weather, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Maybe he was annoyed by my insolent remarks. “You’re new around here. I’m guessing that’s why you don’t know to be more respectful.”

  “Just another tough guy.” I rolled my eyes, clearly too strung-out to care. “Whatever. I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone.”

  I moved toward the door, but he stood, blocking my path. He was over six feet tall, strong, and broad. His look was fierce, meant to earn obedience and fear, and I made sure to act appropriately, cowering slightly and stepping away from him
as I cast my eyes downward. Submissive wasn’t in my wheelhouse, but it would be in Alexia’s. Women like her dealt with plenty of bullies and had to know when to pick and choose their battles. He put a finger under my chin and brought my face up. My muscles tensed, but I didn’t move.

  “That’s better.” A slight smirk played across his face, and his eyes darted over my body. “You look like you’re feeling pretty miserable right about now.” He jerked his chin upward the arrogant way people do when they want to nod a greeting but don’t seem to know how. “Bet I can make you feel better.”

  “Lots of men say that. Very few actually can.” Don’t push, Parker. Mark’s words reverberated in my head, and I swallowed, stepping closer to the side railing. “I’m fine. I just need to sleep this off.”

  He studied my eyes. “Whatta you got under that coat, chica?”

  “Nothing.” Unsure of where this was going, I stepped farther away from him. “C’mon, man, I just want to go upstairs. I’m not looking for any trouble.”

  “Hey, I’m just watching out for my neighbors. I’ve been here a long time. We don’t take kindly to new faces, particularly if we can’t trust them. Y’know what I’m saying?”

  “Not really.” I knew what he was saying. They didn’t want anyone around who would call the heat in to deal with disturbances or narc to the authorities. And they really wouldn’t like an undercover federal agent taking up residence in the slums. “I have enough of my own problems. I’m not looking for any more. Hopefully, I won’t be here long. This is just temporary until I can get back on my feet.”

  He narrowed the distance between us, pinning me against the wrought-iron handrail. “Open your coat.”

  “No.” So much for afraid and submissive.

  He yanked the zipper down and roughly shoved the coat off of my shoulders, grabbing my wrists in each of his hands and pressing his hip against me. He tugged my arms to the sides and studied the bruises and track marks.